The next morning saw Louis free, and he appeared at the breakfast table wearing a very dogged expression of discontent. Edna trembled in her shoes at what might be awaiting her, and when her aunt called her solemnly to her room the child felt as if she were going before a dreadful court of justice.

She never forgot that talk with Aunt Elizabeth, who, to do her credit, tried to mete out what she considered as light a punishment as would meet the case. It was not the punishment which Edna minded; it was the long talk behind locked doors, which she bore standing in front of her aunt, whose sharp eyes were fixed on the little culprit. “The value of the apples is a very small matter,” said Aunt Elizabeth, “and you shall replace them by going without, as your own conscience told you it would be right to do; but the principle of the thing is what I mind, even though you took the fruit for some one else. You were not only breaking the commandment, ‘Thou shalt not steal,’ but you were not honoring those who stand in the place of your father and mother. And it was not helping Louis; it was harming him, for your uncle and I knew better than you what was best to be done. Now,” concluded Aunt Elizabeth, “because you were brave enough to come and confess your fault, and because you are really contrite, I shall not punish you beyond forbidding you all sweets for a week.”

Edna accepted her punishment very meekly. She was very fond of sweets, and it was hard to go without anything of that kind for seven whole days. Ellen with all good intentions offered her a slice of bread and butter spread with sugar in the kitchen one day; but the child was too honest to accept it, and it is quite likely that this stanch upholding of her aunt’s decree had its effect not only upon Ellen but also upon Louis.

“Say, Edna,” said the boy, when he heard the result of the affair, “I’m awfully sorry you got into a fuss on my account.”

“O, I don’t mind it much,” replied his cousin; “I mind having Uncle Justus think me bad.”

Louis opened his eyes. “You don’t care what that old tyrant thinks, do you?”

“Why, yes,” was the reply; “don’t you? I don’t like anybody to think I am wicked.”

“I don’t care what some people think,” replied Louis, angrily. “I wish my father and mother were here, he’d soon see whether I’d be shut up again just because I chose to play with a boy they didn’t know. I’ll run away next time, see if I don’t.”

“Was that it?” returned Edna; “but you know they said we mustn’t make friends with strange children.”

“Didn’t you make friends with Maggie Horn? Answer me that, miss,” exclaimed Louis, triumphantly.

Edna was silent. She didn’t exactly see the way clear to defend herself, although she knew there was a difference somewhere.

“Maggie Horn is nothing but a dirty little street child,” continued Louis; “and I haven’t the least doubt but that she tells stories and steals and all that, while Phil Blaney lives in a nice house, and and

“As if that made him good,” answered Edna, scornfully. “I just know that he is a great deal worse than Maggie, for she never had anyone to teach her, and Phil has had, so he is much worse.”

“He is not,” replied Louis, fiercely.

“He is, he is,” contradicted Edna, “and you are a horrid, disagreeable boy to talk so about Maggie; I am not going to play with you, so there,” and picking up her doll, she stalked away.

“Yah! yah! ‘I don’t want to play in your yard,’” sang Louis after her.

Edna was very angry, the more so that she did not know how to defend Maggie. It was quite likely, she thought, that Maggie might do all sorts of wrong things, and it was also quite true that she had, herself, made friends with a strange girl. She could not puzzle it out, and she went down stairs to the sitting-room where Uncle Justus was. She sat down on a hassock by the fire, looking very thoughtful. Once or twice she glanced up at her uncle.

After a while he noticed the questioning look on her face. “What is it, little girl?” he asked.

“Uncle Justus,” she said, “was I very bad when I talked to Maggie Horn, and got ’quainted with her? Louis says it was just as bad as for him to talk to Phil Blaney.”

“Why did you talk to Maggie and make her acquaintance?”

“’Cause I was so sorry for her,” replied Edna, simply.

“And why did Louis become intimate with Phil; was it to do him good?”

“No,” replied Edna, “I don’t believe he thought of that. I think it was because he thought Phil was fun.”

“And did you think about disobeying when you met Maggie?”

“O, no, of course not; Uncle Justus, you don’t think I meant to, do you? We bumped into each other, and when I saw how poor and thin she was I felt so sorry. You don’t think I talked to her because I wanted not to mind Aunt Elizabeth, do you?”

“No, I do not think so; I believe all your thought was to help Maggie. It was not willful disobedience, so you see there is a difference between the two cases.”

Edna was thoughtful. “Yes, I see,” she answered. But somehow that “feeling sorry for people” made her get over her anger against Louis, and she went up stairs singing a little song to herself. And a half hour later the two might have been heard laughing merrily over their play, and planning what they were going to do at the fair which was to be held the next week.

Before then Edna found out more of Louis’ misbehavior. It seems that he had, more than once, gone out the back gate when he was supposed to be studying his lessons in the afternoon, climbing the fence and creeping in the house again just at dusk, being encouraged in this by Phil Blaney. Uncle Justus coming home later than usual one evening caught sight of Louis with a crowd of bad boys and grimly marched his nephew home.

Phil Blaney was a wild, uncontrolled boy, who spent most of his time in the street, played truant three days out of five, was a great boaster, and sneered at anything like goodness. He was vastly amusing, however, and generally was surrounded by a crowd of admiring lads who thought him quite a hero. He had completely fascinated Louis, who was blind to his faults and attached great weight to every word he uttered. Phil encouraged the younger boy to be as defiant as possible, telling him he was a coward to stand being badgered by old “goggle-eyes,” as he called Professor Horner. So Louis was under a very bad influence, the real danger of which neither he nor Edna could realize.

The next week, however, the fair was the great matter of interest. Aunt Elizabeth had a table and allowed the children to go as helpers, if not every day, at least quite often. Louis being the elder was sometimes allowed to return in the evening, and Edna’s great desire was to be allowed also to go at that time.

“It is much more fun at night,” Louis had told her. “There are so many people there, and it is all lighted up, and there is always music, singing, or something.” But Aunt Elizabeth had not hinted at there being a possibility of Edna’s being allowed to sit up after eight o’clock, and Edna was so very eager to go “just one evening.”

Finally she summoned up courage to take her longing to Uncle Justus. There appeared to be a very good understanding between the grave, dignified man and the honest little girl, and the confidences between the two grew more and more frequent.

Uncle Justus was in the large schoolroom looking over some papers when Edna peeped in. Seeing him so busy she crept away and went to her desk in the adjoining room to wait till he should be free.

After a while she heard him get up and clear his throat in a little way that he had. So she left her desk and reached him as he stood looking thoughtfully out of the window. “Uncle Justus,” she said, “if you were a little girl my size, and there were a fair going on, don’t you think you’d want very much to go in the evening?”

The queer little look which came into Uncle Justus’s face when such questions were put to him appeared as he said, “I do not believe I could imagine the feelings of a little girl, for it is a long time since I was even a little boy.”

For a moment Edna’s imagination tried to picture Uncle Justus as a little boy, but it was such a very difficult thing that she gave it up almost immediately.

“You see,” Edna went on, “I don’t believe I should mind about most fairs, but this is such a particular fair. You know it is to get a new house for Maggie and the rest of the little Friendlesses, and then I helped to make some of the pretty things, and I do want to hear the singing, and see how it looks lighted up.”

Uncle Justus smiled; it was not a very fascinating place to him, but it was fairyland to the little girl. “What does your aunt say?” he asked.

“She doesn’t say anything about it,” replied Edna; “only she never lets me sit up after eight-o’clock, you know.”

“We’ll have to see about it,” was all Uncle Justus said, but it was quite enough for Edna to know he meant to put in a word for her. And indeed that very evening Aunt Elizabeth remarked, “Edna, if you study your lessons faithfully for the rest of the week you may go to the fair with me on Friday evening, as there will be no school the next day.”

Edna clasped her hands and shot a pleased look at Uncle Justus, who looked at her over the top of his spectacles. “O!” she exclaimed, “I am so rejoiceful.”

Even Aunt Elizabeth smiled at that, and it is needless to say that the lessons were given unusual attention for the next few days.

But, alas! when Friday afternoon came Aunt Elizabeth was laid up with an attack of neuralgia, and there was no hope of her getting to the fair that evening.

Such a disappointed little girl never was the great tear-drops splashed down her cheeks as she heard the decision and fled to her room. “O, dear! O, dear!” she said, “I don’t see why it had to be Friday. Why didn’t Aunt Elizabeth wait just one more day?” Something poor Aunt Elizabeth would have been ready enough to do if possible. It did seem to Edna as if she could not stand it, and she went down to supper with very red eyes. Louis tried to comfort her and promised to play buttons with her that evening, a specially favorite amusement of the little girl when Aunt Elizabeth allowed her button bag to be used, and all sorts of plays were invented by using the buttons. But even this prospect had lost its charm. “I wish I were a man,” exclaimed Louis, suddenly, “I’d take you.”

Uncle Justus looked up quizzically. “No, you wouldn’t, my young sir,” he replied; “for I expect to give myself the pleasure of taking Edna to the fair this evening.”

Down went Edna’s knife and fork, and, in defiance of all the set rules of the house, she jumped up from her seat and actually hugged Uncle Justus. She probably would not have done so if Aunt Elizabeth had been present, but that restraining presence removed, the children both felt a little less timid.

It did not take Edna long to get ready, and such a rosy, beaming face as appeared at the door of the sitting-room must have given Uncle Justus a feeling of satisfaction that he had sacrificed his comfort for that one evening, for the old gentleman did not at all enjoy going to fairs, and would have preferred to spend the evening over his papers and magazines at his own fireside.

The fair rooms truly did present a dazzling scene to the little girl, and she was enjoying it all hugely when her uncle declared himself tired and told her to run about a little while and come back to him when she had seen everything.

She had not gone farther than the second booth when her attention was caught by a beautiful large doll which bore a card saying that to the little girl who should receive the largest number of votes would the doll be given.

“What do you think of it?” asked some one, as the child stood absorbed in gazing at the lovely creature before her. Edna looked up; at her side stood the minister of the church to which she went every Sunday with her aunt and uncle.

“I think it is perfectly lovely; but what does that mean?” exclaimed she.

“What, the card? It means that a wealthy gentleman bought the doll, and, having no little girl of his own to give it to, thought this would be a nice way to dispose of it. The friends of some little girls will vote for them, and the one who has the greatest number of votes will get the doll. Now, I suspect you wish very much that you could be the fortunate little girl.”

“Yes, I do,” replied Edna, candidly; “only I haven’t very many friends, ’cause I don’t live here. I am spending the winter with Uncle and Aunt Horner.”

“O, yes, you are Professor Horner’s little niece; now, let me see, perhaps you have more friends here than you imagine. Suppose I were to try to get some votes for you; shall I?”

Edna was about to speak, when a sudden thought came into her mind. For a moment a hard struggle went on. She did love dolls, but she had several, and she stood looking soberly at the one before her while the minister watched her.

“What is it, little one?” he asked, gently. Edna looked up wistfully, the color coming and going in her face.

“I was thinking” she said, “O! won’t you please get the votes for Maggie Horn instead of me? I don’t believe Maggie ever had a doll in her life, and I have so many.”

“And don’t you want this one?”

Edna was silent, but her candor always prevailed. “O yes, but Maggie would be so perfectly wild over it, and you see she’s one of the little Friendlesses, and this is her fair, so she ought to have it,” she said in a moment.

“Then,” returned the minister, “I will try to get a great many votes for her. And your name is

“Edna Conway. I must go back to Uncle Justus now.”

The minister took her by the hand and piloted her through the crowd. “Can you spare me your little girl a while longer, Professor?” he asked.

Uncle Justus gave a willing consent, and when Edna had eaten a plate of ice cream, had heard the music, had seen the lemonade well, lighted up with electric lights, and had looked at pretty things till she was tired, her friend took her back to Uncle Justus.

But that gentleman sent her to pick out a cornucopia from Aunt Elizabeth’s table, and she was made happy by the possession of the one which she had always especially admired; it was shiny white with little bunches of flowers over it, and the picture of a dear little girl on it.

Her uncle and the minister were in earnest conversation when she returned to them, and the minister’s parting words were:

“Good-night, my child; we must have you here to-morrow evening to hear who gets the doll.”

Edna was so tired that she nearly fell asleep on the way home, but she felt quite wide-awake when they reached there, and was very much surprised when Uncle Justus bent down and kissed her good-night. He had never done this before, and although pleased at the act, Edna wondered why he did it, and she went up stairs also wondering who would get that lovely doll.